


This is How You Love Her

by UnwrittenCurse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action, F/M, Hogwarts Era, Missing Scene, POV Second Person, Romance, Triwizard Tournament
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 12:47:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6470512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnwrittenCurse/pseuds/UnwrittenCurse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You think of the tears she hid from you this morning, how her voice wavered when she wished you good luck. She knew, then, that you would win; so did you. What she doesn’t know—couldn’t know—is that what you really want, is to lose.</p><p>Set during the third task of the Triwizard tournament.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is How You Love Her

_"Remember, if the time should come, when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave…. Remember Cedric Diggory." —Albus Dumbledore_

* * *

When you see the Triwizard Cup slicing the dark with its gemstone glow, you think of Cho—but not in the way you thought you would. You don’t think of her good luck kiss, wet and lingering, before you entered the maze; you don’t ball it up in your fist for motivation in this, the final push. Instead, you think of the way she’ll shrink if you claim this victory. You think of her flitting laugh in crowds and of her fingers tugging nervously at the waistband of your jeans. She’ll drown in your victory. She’ll sink.

But then there’s Harry and his eyes are beady and his hair sticks to his forehead and he’s running. Call it adrenaline or instinct, but you run too. Trainers beating into the earth, slipping on slick blades of grass, you tear at the leafy walls of the maze, ripping out tufts of green. Cho’s favorite color.

As you pass Harry, frenzied, the elation bubbling in your stomach, Harry’s elbow knocks your jaw and the night explodes with red. You try to blink it away, but it sticks to your eyelids. You’re stumbling, drunk, when Harry calls to you. His alarm pulses with fear, but you’re choking on grass—you’ve tripped and your wand carves a smooth arch through the dense air.

“ _Stupefy!_ ”

Harry hurtles a spell in your direction. Your arms form a protective triangle over your head, but the spell whizzes past you and hits something dark. Something heavy. Something eight-legged, something with an infinite number of glistening, inhuman eyes.

Its breathing grinds like wet cement.

You swallow a scream and jump to your feet. Harry is frantically yelling spells, but the spider is fast. It grabs him; he doesn’t yield in his spell casting even as he dangles upside down. 

Dodging legs like trunks, you lunge for your wand. The spider's coarse hairs scratch your exposed arm, several of the strands sticking into your pink skin. You twist, recoiling, and thud to the ground beside your wand, the air knocked from your lungs. Somehow, you manage to speak. The spell escapes your lips, crackling as it fuses with Harry’s spell, and the beast falls in a thundering finale.

“Harry?” Your voice comes out in a croak.

You hear a muted groan and there he is. He’s shaking but alive, brushing the dirt and grass from his Triwizard robes. Your sigh of relief hisses like rain on hot asphalt. 

He considers the cup before you do. His jaw tenses, lips pulling taut as he tells you to take it. In your estimation, the cup is within arms’ reach. Your muscles itch at the proximity of victory, but you know you have to refuse. You have plenty of excuses to offer, too—that Harry has saved you, twice; that he gave you a heads up about the dragons; that he stayed behind during the second task to help the other hostages when you had eyes for only Cho.

And the truth is, you still do. You think of the tears she hid from you this morning, how her voice wavered when she wished you good luck. She knew, then, that you would win; so did you. What she doesn’t know—couldn’t know—is that what you really want, is to lose.

It breaks your heart, too. Because your dad—. You conjure an image of his round, beaming face as you hoist the cup over your head. He’s hugging you—squeezing you—and pounding his palm into your back again and again.

“That’s my boy!”

But you know that love—the kind you have with Cho, specifically; the kind that makes getting a T seem less fatal, the kind that makes chamomile tea at Madam Puddifoot’s suddenly bearable—well, it’s worth more than your father’s approval. It’s worth more than pounds of gold in your vault at Gringott’s and more than your face in the paper for a week or two. 

You can’t bear to watch Cho fade while the world swells around you.

But Harry’s not relenting. He’s given you an offer. “Both of us.”

The darkness is dense—you feel it pressing in on you as the other two champions edge ever closer. You can almost hear their ragged breathing, their foggy exhales. You have to make a decision.

So you think on it. And it hits you—the potential that this crazy idea—to have two winners, just as Hogwarts has two champions—will solve everything. 

“Okay,” you hear yourself say. Harry smiles.

You notice Harry limping, so you sling an arm underneath his armpit, feeling him slump into you. Together, you inch toward the glimmering cup. You imagine that it is humming, pulsating life. Harry shakes beside you, his sweat seeping through the fabric of your shirt. You watch as his eyes widen. He wants this victory, deserves this victory—he, the Boy Who Lived.

Again, you think of Cho, how she will smile and congratulate you and begin to wane as your dad thumps you on the back, showering his affection in wet words of praise. But just as she tiptoes from reach, you’ll take a step back, let the light fall on Harry, let the crowd cheer and swoon and honor. You’ll tug at the waistband of her jeans, hungrily, curl your finger around her belt loop. And in a shadowy corner of the pitch, still reeking of sweat and glowing with triumph, you’ll kiss her. You’ll kiss her and with your lips you’ll trace the echo of the moonlight down her nose. And you’ll tell her what you’ve realized tonight, deep in the heart of the maze. You’ll tell her that you love her.

Harry counts to three, slowly, purposefully, and you both grab the handle.


End file.
